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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908959">The Foxes Know Our Taste</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondfly/pseuds/Dragondfly'>Dragondfly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ashes to Ashes [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural, Veronica Mars (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Two lost souls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:34:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondfly/pseuds/Dragondfly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica's soul calls to Dean but her memories and head keep her trapped on the other side.</p><p>Dean feels alone, achingly lonely as he follows her across the country.</p><p>Together, the hell-scape of Neptune reels her back, and drags him along into its depths.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars, Veronica Mars/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ashes to Ashes [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/66983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Foxes Know Our Taste</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Both of them feel the rift, an ever-expanding chasm of emotional distance having formed the minute Bobby told them they were going after Sam in the hell-scape of Neptune, California. It sits like a shard of glass, feather light and razor sharp, just behind Dean's breastbone, lurking and bitter and acrid in Veronica's throat.</p><p>As the wind curls through Veronica's jacket and creeps around the collar of her helmet, the sound of the Impala rumbling along at her back, ever steady and faithful, adds another stone around her neck.</p><p>The same way the sight of the 'Welcome to California' wrenches her gut unpleasantly.</p><p>The night previous, tangled together in the middle of nowhere, reminiscent of how they started, it was easy to pretend that the rift didn't exist, throwing a ramshackle rope across in the form of shared breath and hot skin against hot skin. But out here, on the road with literal distance between them, it hurts them both.</p><p>Veronica's soul calls to Dean but her memories and head keep her trapped on the other side.</p><p>Dean feels alone, achingly lonely as he follows her across the country.</p><p>(it feels like standing in front of a thunderstorm, that pressure deep on all the senses that cannot be explained, a wave about to break)</p><p>That day, as they both crash into the exhausted sleep at the second motel they passed -</p><p>(the garish lights of a fake castle painted the road strips of bright, just the type of place that's easy to get lost in, but Veronica drives past, urging her motorcycle faster, and Dean notices, notices how she seems to shrink in her jacket the further into town they get. Dean is the one who has to check in for them. He notices that too, as Veronica hovers outside, leaned against the Impala, and files it all away)</p><p>- that follows an haul of long driving, tangled together but still emotionally distanced, Veronica dreams of Lilly.</p><p>She isn't surprised.</p><p>(nose filled with the sharp scent of blood and chlorine, tarnished pennies and long lost pool parties, the colours of the dream a garish highlight of death, green and white and red blood, the uniform of Lilly Kane, forever brained in Veronica's dreams.)</p><p>They're seated on Lilly's bed, peering at an array of photographs scattered across the bedspread. Veronica pays them no heed, content the play with the section of Lilly's hair that isn't marred by the blood of her death. She runs her fingers through the silky blonde strands, braiding as she goes and humming along with whatever punk-pop song is filling the room.</p><p>"Veronica Mars, back in Neptune at last!" Lilly crows as she peers at the photos in front of her. "I never thought I'd see the day."</p><p>(technically, she won't. All Lilly sees nowadays is the pitch black of a coffin.)</p><p>"Yeah, well..." Is all Veronica offers, along with a small shrug.</p><p>"Now now Veronica, don't be like that," Lilly chides with an admonishing glare. "We both knew you couldn't avoid your demons forever."</p><p>(Veronica would rather do the tango in her underwear with a trio of demons in front of her entire graduation class then be back in Neptune.)</p><p>Veronica just grunts in response and continues braiding, frowning when her fingers come away tinged with blood.</p><p>"Well, you have to say hi to Logan for me!" Lilly chirps, finally turning to face her childhood friend and giving Veronica another vivid look at the head wound she'll never forget.</p><p>(it's not the worst thing Veronica's seen, not by far, not after nearly a year of hunting. Not after countless slashes and cuts, crazed eyes and headless monsters, death walking and hell beast crawling the earth, demons and darkness and horror. But it is still prominent in her nightmares.)</p><p>(is this a nightmare?)</p><p>Catching the look that crosses Veronica's face at her suggestion, Lilly leans in close, brow furrowing. Tapping a perfectly manicured finger to Veronica's cheek, Lilly examines her best friend that makes her feel vaguely like a bug under a microscope. Or a particularly intriguing specimen about to be dissected.</p><p>Lilly always had a way of digging out even Veronica's most stubbornly guarded secrets.</p><p>"Oh lovely Veronica, you look afraid," Lilly murmurs. Veronica looks away. "I thought you put away your fear in a box."</p><p>"Yeah, the same box as everything to do with this town," Veronica snarls down at her bloodstained hands, refusing to meet Lilly's all-knowing gaze.</p><p>"Well my dear, it's time to smash open some boxes," Lilly decrees and something feral lights in her eyes. Focused as she is on her hands, Veronica misses it.</p><p>Then a metal pipe is in her grasp.</p><p>(smash, smash, smash, a haze of blood in her eyes and copper on her tongue, manic energy in her bones, survival is paramount, gore an artistic painting on her face and the walls)</p><p>And she's back in that basement.</p><p>(it is a nightmare)</p><p>Flying into wakefulness with a strangled yelp, Veronica jerks back into consciousness that sends her body twisting out of the bed and onto the floor. She lands with a muffled thud, a collection of threadbare blankets and sheets tangled about her limbs and an annoyed "oof." There's a cold sweat scraping it's way down her spine and a wiff of nausea swirling in her gut, and she's teetering on the edge of a meltdown.</p><p>Dean dreams of Castiel as a dog walker, who walks through parks with nearly a dozen dogs attached to a harness at the angel's waist and flirts shamelessly with every adult he sees. He's wearing dad jeans and a plain t-shirt and looks like someone who should be buying his daughter ice cream in the park.</p><p>(there is something acutely sad about the image)</p><p>Dean is surprised.</p><p>And mildly disturbed.</p><p>And when Castiel passes close enough that one of the dogs, a large Doberman with mischievous eyes, snags Dean's jacket in its teeth, Dean is even more surprised to be yanked from his dream by the feeling of the blankets being ripped off of him.</p><p>(cold steel instant to the palm, never be caught unawares, always prepared for attack)</p><p>Blinking away the remainders of sleep, Dean sits up in the dim room lit only by the setting sun through thin curtains and tries to figure out what woke him. It takes only the cool press of air against skin before he starts looking around, the gun in his hands lowering. When he spots a trail of sheets and blankets leading away from where they are twisted about his feet, he follows the line of fabric to the woman he...</p><p>"Okay?" Dean asks as a yawn slips free, and he sets the weapon on the nightstand.</p><p>The sound she makes is a cross between a grunt and someone stretching out consonants like a rubber band. Dean snorts, but sobers quickly when "nightmare" follows the noise. Understanding floods, so he slides from the bed and gathers her up, dropping back onto the mattress without jostling his precious cargo. She's pale and has heavy bags under her eyes, lips pinched and the slightest of tremors in the fingertips that wind themselves into the front of his shirt, but adorably rumpled in one of his old shirts and hair sticking up every which way.</p><p>A pulse of emotion, quick and heady, like a shot of bourbon, settles low in his belly, burning like an ember.</p><p>Sympathy is no use to either of them, and, just as Veronica understands Dean -</p><p>(instant hot chocolate in the middle of the night, flickering informercials used as nothing more than sound to drown out the lingering screams of hell)</p><p>Dean understands Veronica.</p><p>(human contact, a strange assortment of teas making the bottom of her duffle smell like a woodland fairy threw up in it, motels close to the freeway with the steady rumbles of tractor trailers through the night)</p><p>"I had a dream Cas was a dog walker," Dean announces to the room as a whole, but feels Veronica tilt her head to listen and some of the tension leave her tiny frame as he rambles about nothing in particular.</p><p>He doesn't ask.</p><p>A short while later, as the sun is taking its final bow before the curtains close on tonight's performance, Veronica is steadier and Dean has decided that if Cas were a dog, he'd be a cute little cocker spaniel.</p><p>They don't talk about Neptune.</p><p>They don't talk about Sam.</p><p>Who is in Neptune.</p><p>Who they'll likely have to find soon in order to get this hunt started.</p><p>They don't talk about the rift they both feel but can't yet bring themselves to acknowledge.</p><p>Silence lays heavy in both their ears as they rise, hunger and restlessness in their bones driving them out of bed. Shifting in the shadows, they dress, Veronica asking a question with a lift of battered runners and Dean nods, readying themselves for a run and decorating their bodies with a small collection of weapons; leaving behind some form of protection is sacrilegious and equivalent to leaving behind a limb.</p><p>There's still a rift, evident in how Veronica's quick smile doesn't touch her eyes and how their rhythm seems off balance, Dean unwilling to voice his fear in reuniting with Sam, but they slip into the night side by side.</p><p>Outside, deepening dusk envelops the pair like a lover, smudging into dark clothes like a shadow. The rhythm settles easily into their pace, a drum beat tempo of hot blood pulsing through veins. Veronica takes the lead, just a half step ahead, guiding them through streets that hold too many memories and fighting the urge to bolt from this town and leave it in her dust. As she runs, her feet travel towards an all too familiar street, home to an array of shops and offices, apartments and memories that chase her heels like the hounds of hell.</p><p>Veering off sharply, she feels more than hears Dean grunt in confusion, but he says nothing and simply returns to matching her pace.</p><p>Blood warms in their limbs, hearts thrumming in their chest, the power of physical exertion burning away any lingering bits of sleep and filling their minds with nothing but the sound of feet smacking pavement and the breath whistling in their lungs.</p><p>(it's easy to ignore their pain, burying it beneath a layer of physical exertion)</p><p>Eventually, they find themselves running along the beach, following a stretch of road that runs parallel to the sand. The cool air of the night nips at exposed flesh, easily ignored in the heat of exercise.</p><p>It isn't until Dean's hand alights on her shoulder, slowing her momentum and causing her to turn to face him, that the sound finally breaks through the haze she's run herself into. They slow to a halt and turn to face the array of lights behind them. Veronica pulls up her hood and slouches deeper into her sweater, letting herself burrow into the dark fabric and shadows.</p><p>The rumble of a dozen or more motorcycle engines rings strong in the ears and even into their bones as the machines roll closer. At her side, she senses Dean roll onto the balls of his feet and his muscles tense, and Veronica reaches out and snags his fingers in hers before he can make a move, instinctive or intentional, towards his belt.</p><p>(quick squeeze of fingers conveys enough information that Dean relaxes marginally, but not fully, knowing the dangers of biker gangs in California, but he can see Veronica is watching the oncoming wave with a strange anticipation radiating from her)</p><p>Dean's eyes follow the line of motorcycles that move to form a semi circle around them, boxing them in on the side of the road with nothing but beach and sea at their backs. Veronica's eyes stay on one bike in particular, peeking out from the lip of the hood, gleaming with emotion.</p><p>Like a pack of hungry wolves, the bikes seem to surge and retreat, hunting their prey and Dean gets a feeling that, if he and Veronica were any other runners in this part of town at this time of night, they should be terrified for not only their wallets but perhaps also their lives. The roar seems to crescendo, before abruptly cutting off and letting the sound of the ocean fill the void of noise.</p><p>One of the leather-clad bikers directly in front of them sits back on his ride and removes his helmet, revealing Latino features and an angry scowl. Dean puts his age somewhere around eighteen and feels the faintest stirs of pity for the youth.</p><p>Veronica keeps her gaze level on one of the figures further to the left.</p><p>"Haven't you pretty 09ers learned by now that this is our strip of town?" The youth growls, lip curling in disgust.</p><p>"Awe, are you calling me pretty?" Dean fires back with a wiggle of his eyebrows.</p><p>(he can't help it. really)</p><p>The snarl on the boy's face deepens and rumblings rise from the other bikers, gloved hands drifting and flickering about their frames and Dean can catalogue at least two weapons apiece on each figure. Calculating, he gives his and Veronica's odds a decent 1 to 2 of taking out all of the bikers if they need to, but her hand is still tangled loosely in his and he can hear snickering from under the hood.</p><p>(there's something hysterical in it)</p><p>"Alright, hand over the goods and keep your mouth shut, and you won't get hurt," a new voice chimes in, muffled by a helmet.</p><p>Dean snorts. He can't help it, really, it's just the situation is too much of a movie scene for him not to laugh.</p><p>"Let me guess, your next line will be like, 'and don't say anything to anyone unless you know what's good for you.'"</p><p>The rumblings grow louder and a handful of crowbars make an appearance. Dean just sighs, and he hears it echoed from the woman next to him. Her fingers drop away and she takes two steps forward, causing Dean to tense as the circle of bikers shifts in reaction. His gaze darts left and right down the semi circle, anticipating any movement and preparing to spring into action.</p><p>(normally, he wouldn't worry about Veronica handling herself)</p><p>(normally, they aren't in Neptune, and, while he doesn't know exactly how big of an impact it will have on his partner, his friend, his pack, his other half, being back here, he knows enough to be worried)</p><p>"I'm almost happy to see some things haven't changed," Veronica murmurs, just loud enough for Dean to hear, before she turns her body to the left and lifts her head to face the biker that had remained quiet and still throughout the duration of the encounter. Watching as he is the remainder of the gang, Dean misses the full body stiffening that rushes through the figure.</p><p>For a long second, there is a crackling impasse, filled with tension and aggression, and Dean starts to feel adrenaline pump through his still warm body as a response. He's ready for a fight if it comes to it.</p><p>And if violence will help settle his nerves, well, he isn't one to pass up an opportunity.</p><p>"Did you hear what I said, puta, hand over-" the boy starts, only to be cut off by a raised hand from the biker locked in the staring contest with Veronica. All eyes turn at the motion, which is followed by a wave and flick of the wrist that sends a shockwave of new motion through the gang. A great roar fills the air as the motorcycles' start up once again and all peel off, with the boy taking the rear as he scrambles to shove on his helmet after he spares a second to glare once more at Dean and Veronica.</p><p>Then it's only them and the last biker.</p><p>The biker removes his helmet and settles it between the handlebars and swings his body off of the machine. As the heavily tattooed Latino man moves toward Veronica, Dean sees her brace, and he prepares to leap into the middle of… he doesn't know what exactly is happening but, with the adrenaline in his system and bundle of nerves due to their presence in this town, he's on a hair trigger.</p><p>"V," is all the biker says, voice rough with emotion and eyes filled with unshed tears and this is when things begin to click.</p><p>"Hi Eli," Veronica whispers, emotion thick in her voice as well.</p><p>(the leader of the PCH biker gang hugs her almost as tightly as Dean does when she claws her way out of a nightmare.)</p><p>In the dark of the dying dusk, the three figures bunched on the side of the road are smudged into the shadows cast by the headlights of the abandoned motorcycle that crouches silently nearby. At their backs, the ocean continues its rhythmic roar, a low back drop of brainless noise, comforting in its consistency.</p><p>(it feels strange, hugging a ghost from her past. Like it isn't quite tangible, as if tendrils of Eli Navarro will slide through her fingertips like smoke if she doesn't clutch him hard enough)</p><p>(perhaps she is the ghost in this situation and if she can hear Lilly laughing at her, she'll deny it)</p><p>The thought drifts through her scattered mind and causes a strangled laugh to bubble free; it's a lot, bordering on too much, being back, finally holding one of the key pieces of her past firmly in her arms again. Veronica always believed she reached her breaking point in that basement, but in her mind's eye, a wall is growing steadily closer. The laugh sounds suspiciously like a sob.</p><p>At her back, Veronica can sense Dean shift restlessly in the shadows, the instincts they seem to share itching and snarling to do something in the face of this emotional cluster; she knows the clever hunter has already begun stitching together what's happening here, just as she knows he'll hide the slash of hurt he's likely to feel. She also knows he wants to reach for her, gather her close just as he did after her nightmare, because human contact settles her. And she also knows he won't and that is something incredible, not interfering.</p><p>(when she begins thinking about seeing others again, Wallace, Logan, … her father, her mind goes numb, ice sliding through her fingers, fear and shame tasting like ash in her mouth)</p><p>(coming back to Neptune may just break her to pieces)</p><p>But Veronica can't focus on Dean and his restless energy, that same energy that hums in her bones; all she can focus on his Weevil shaking in her arms, thinks he might just shake apart.</p><p>(maybe it's her that's shaking)</p><p>"V," he murmurs again, a broken consonant of noise. There's a world of emotion in that one syllable that hovers between them, years of memories and lost time. It tugs at the tangle of everything that she was and is and has become tucked deep in her chest.</p><p>"Yeah," is all she can say, a whisper doing its best to answer so much that remains unspoken.</p><p>When they finally separate, Eli pulling away with a strange swirl of cold and leather with the loss of contact. They both ignore the tears gleaming in the other's eyes.</p><p>"You back?" he asks roughly, stare deep and searching for something inside her.</p><p>Guilt floods Veronica's throat, clamping down like a vice, thick and unforgiving. The hope in the biker's eyes is a new form of torture, grating down her spine.</p><p>(because she doesn't know, Gods how could she, given it took a case and Dean, her wonderful, dented Dean who matches her missing bits like a puzzle piece, to get her back to Neptune in one piece in the first place, a place she was never planning on setting foot in again, not with her darkness and they things she knows)</p><p>All she can do is lift a shoulder, something vile twisting in her stomach at how Weevil's features crumple, just a little.</p><p>"Well, it's good to see you again V," he finally says at length, swiping a sleeve of his jacket across his eyes to clear them. "I figured you'd never set foot back here the way you blew out like hell was at your heels." There's a question buried there, tucked away between mild accusation and genuine happiness, but Veronica is suddenly laughing, an odd jerking snort.</p><p>(hell, funny, because hell is pain and suffering and fire, demons and psychological and physical torture, breaking of minds and spirits and wait that does sound vaguely like Neptune doesn't it)</p><p>Dean snickers behind her, a bit of the tension in his shoulders bleeding away.</p><p>(because he knows hell, intimately familiar with it, been there and got the postcard, Technicolor memories trapped in synapses that will never be washed clean and Dean is incapable of comparing forty years of torment to a tiny sea-side town, he's never had a home that played games with his mind and soul, can't quite grasp the concept)</p><p>Weevil starts a little when Dean laughs, attention skittering to the hunter lurking behind Veronica's shoulder, forgotten in the moment. The biker's shoulders go up, a hair trigger reaction to the unknown born through his years of fighting to remain at the top of the PCH bikers; a daunting task that's taken little slices of his heart over the years.</p><p>"And who's this white-boy?" Eli asks, hard and cocky and bold, as if there aren't tears still hiding in his lashes. The bravado settles Veronica; it's refreshing and a welcome escape from the thoughts of ghosts and pasts.</p><p>Choking back the last of the snickers until they get trapped in her chest, rattling around like an angry Wendigo, Veronica glances over her shoulder at Dean.</p><p>"He's…" she starts –</p><p>(how to put into words what Dean is, her friend, her companion, her pack, the person who's help stitch her broken self-back together the same way she has to him)</p><p>- "Dean," she finishes lamely, smiling slightly when he rolls his eyes at her. The way his lips twitch into a tiny smirk and the cock of his head tells her enough and she responds in kind, with a gentle dip of her head and flash of teeth. The gap between them settles for the moment, caught on studier ground.</p><p>When Eli grunts in acknowledgement, she rolls her eyes at the boys, and continues, "Dean, this is Eli."</p><p>"How do you do?" Dean offers, pulling forth a faint drawl that curls around each word in politeness.</p><p>Eli offers only a quick bob of the head, which Dean returns.</p><p>Dean's cell phone chirps to life in that moment, breaking the spell that surrounds the trio. Frowning as Dean pulls the phone from his pocket and answers, Veronica returns her attention to Weevil. The low rumble of Dean's voice is too low to pick out any distinct words, try as she might to catch a snippet.</p><p>"It's good to see you too Eli," she murmurs gently.</p><p>"How long are you in town for V? If you aren't back?" Weevil asks, gaze flicking back and forth between her and the hunter on the phone behind her.</p><p>"I don't know yet, depends on some things," she answers, deliberately vague.</p><p>Weevil narrows his eyes at her before mumbling a muffled "mmhmm."</p><p>Dean snaps his phone shut and moves closer, leaning over Veronica's shoulder to murmur, "that was Bobby; he's set up a meeting for you with Sam for tomorrow."</p><p>(a bitterness tucked under his words, hard to catch but easy to taste if you know where to look, lurking like something gone bad)</p><p>Veronica only nods shortly, letting herself sway back slightly to press her shoulder against his chest, her wordless way of passing support. She feels him lean into the touch briefly, before stepping back, warmth vanishing in the now-night breeze.</p><p>"We should probably be getting back," she says quietly.</p><p>"You should let the sheriff know you're alive," is all Eli tells her, accusation threading his tone, before he gets back on his motorcycle, pausing with his helmet in his hands. "He's not the same man anymore. And I'd like to see my bike again before you go, check up on the old girl and all." It's an olive branch that she snatches by nodding.</p><p>(astonishingly painful shards of cold steel guilt and remorse at the mention of the Sheriff, smells of home and the office lifting from the cold tar under her feet)</p><p>And then he's gone, roaring into the night.</p><p>For a long moment, Dean and Veronica stand there in silence, each lost in thought.</p><p>(sam, sam, sam, sam, sam)</p><p>(dad, dad, dad, dad, dad)</p><p>Finally, Veronica breaks the silence.</p><p>(walls carefully reconstructed, the first slice is always the worst, the leader of the PCH bikers leaving a bloodless gash in his parting words)</p><p>"Let's get back."</p><p>Dean nods, reaching out to cup a rough-worn hand around her cheek. Veronica presses into the touch, eyes closing and hand reaching out to rest her palm against the warmth of his chest. Under her fingertips, his heartbeat thrums steadily, warm and real and alive. They stand like that for a long moment, silent but for their breathing.</p><p>(communicating)</p><p>(they come to an agreement; it's time to strip everything away, fill in all the details of Sam and Neptune and the chaos that seems to cling to them like a poltergeist. Let the last front fall, because if they don't, neither them are apt to make it out of this town)</p><p>(love)</p><p>The run back into Neptune is at a slower pace, Veronica no longer trying to outrun her demons, instead letting them settle in alongside her. Seeing Weevil again –</p><p>(in the time after the basement and the time before Dean, she remembers finding him, a broken creature healing in the spare bedroom of his house, passed onto him from his grandmother. She swore Eli to secrecy as he dressed wounds and tried his best to navigate the wasteland of a person once his friend, near feral in the first few days, angry and fearful in turn, struggling and trapped in a damaged body that wanted nothing more than to run on legs that were too weak to support her)</p><p>- was enough to let go of those first claws of her past.</p><p>As they near their motel, her hood stays down and Dean trades her half-hearted swipes and elbow jabs as they move to ease away some of the tension in their hearts. It's a shadow of what a normal training session might consist of, but it's a piece of normal in this maelstrom.</p><p>They stop briefly at a 24 hour gas station, Veronica remaining outside in the relative darkness of a broken light, while Dean heads in and stocks up on the all-night research essentials. Packets of chips and jerky, a few cans of energy drink (Veronica), a box of apple flips (Dean), and a case of beer make up the collection. They walk the last mile and a half loaded down with the haul, quiet and contemplative.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here begins the multi-chapter arc.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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